


A Slice of Cheesecake

by MelayneSeahawk



Series: Ineffable Wives Fics [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (how is that not a tag already), (lingerie no nudity), (mentions) - Freeform, Aziraphale Is Bad at Being a Spy, Book Elements, Chubby Aziraphale, Collaboration, Episode: s01e03 Hard Times, F/F, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female Crowley (Good Omens), Genderfuck Crowley, Historical, Historical Lingerie, Historical References, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Like Too Old to Be Vintage in This Case, Lingerie, Mutual Pining, NSFW Art, Photography, Pin Me Up! Zine, Pining, Show Elements, World War II, a whole forest of pine trees, ish, pin up, rationing, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29444352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelayneSeahawk/pseuds/MelayneSeahawk
Summary: Crowley has an idea for how Aziraphale can help with the war effort, but she didn't expect the angel to take it soseriously
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Ineffable Wives Fics [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543756
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18
Collections: Pin Me Up Zine





	A Slice of Cheesecake

**Author's Note:**

> My piece for Pin Me Up! Zine, a collaboration with bilarzo ([AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tylerhoechlions/pseuds/bilarzo), [Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/bilarzo/))
> 
> betaed; all historical inaccuracies are _totally intentional, mmk?_ :D

“I don’t think I’m cut out for spying, my dear,” Aziraphale said, as they got out of Crowley’s car in front of the bookshop. Aziraphale was clinging to the satchel of books the demon had rescued for her, mostly to keep from reaching out. The silent, darkened streets around them were eerie; even before the advent of electric light, London was never this dark or quiet. And yes, there had been some dark nights due to the bombing during the last war, but nothing like this.

Crowley rounded the car and leaned up against the side of it, her very masculine hat cocked at a rakish angle over her eyes. “Home safe,” she said, and Aziraphale could clearly read between the lines there. Things had been tense between them since the Holy Water Incident in 1862, and the core issue was far from resolved, but if Crowley was willing to try to bridge the gap…

“Come inside for a drink,” Aziraphale said quickly, before she lost her nerve. “It’s not safe to be out at night, and there’s a few hours yet until dawn. It’s...well, it’s been a long time.”

“It has,” Crowley agreed, something unreadable in her expression, and Aziraphale wondered if it was just that she had lost the knack. “Lead the way, angel.”

***

“I really do want to help,” Aziraphale said mournfully, staring into the bottom of her glass. They had already emptied three bottles of very old wine from her collection, and were working on a fourth, which meant they were both a few sheets to the wind, but not incoherent.

“Oh, there’s lotsss of ways to help, angel,” Crowley hissed, from her usual sprawl on the couch, which Aziraphale delighted to see; it meant the demon felt at home, despite everything. “Could be a nurse, or a WAAF, or an ambulance driver. Or you could switch your corporation around a bit, become a soldier or a diplomat,” she added with a shrug, which was an odd motion when she was almost upside-down on the couch.

“I was told I wasn’t to leave Britain,” Aziraphale said mournfully. “Have to stay here, observe the home front.”

“Nonsense,” Crowley said, followed by a series of incomprehensible syllables. Then she got a completely wicked look on her face -- one of Aziraphale’s favorite expressions, actually -- and said, “You could always make cheesecake.”

“The dessert?” Aziraphale asked, confused, but Crowley shook her head and shifted out of her horizontal sprawl into a somewhat more upright posture.

“No, the art style,” Crowley said. “What the Americans call pin-up. Humans -- usually women -- in their underwear, posing. The soldiers love them. Good for morale.”

Aziraphale had a feeling that Crowley expected her to be offended, or at least shocked, but the idea had merit. “I’d have to take a look at what others are producing, to see what the style is right now,” she mused aloud, and Crowley choked on her wine. “Oh, Crowley, my dear, would you take the pictures for me? I could acquire a camera. I’m sure most people use a studio, but I don’t think I’d feel entirely comfortable working with a stranger.”

“Ngk,” Crowley replied, and Aziraphale secretly applauded herself for shocking the supposedly-unshockable demon. Admittedly, it was much easier than Crowley let on, at least when it came to Aziraphale -- and she didn’t let herself think about what that might mean -- but she did it only sparingly. “Sure, angel, whatever you like,” the demon replied finally, after miracling up a glass of water to clear her throat. “Just make sure you’ll still be interested when you’ve sobered up.”

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale said, smile broadening, already contemplating the contents of her closet. “Always looking out for me.” Crowley choked again, blushing, and tossed back some more water, and Aziraphale decided to be merciful and change the subject.

***

It was a few weeks later when she decided to bring it up again, while they were on the phone planning their next get-together. “So, I’ve acquired a camera, like we planned,” she said, grinning to herself when Crowley made the expected choked sound.

“You’re still going to do that, eh?” the demon asked eventually. “I was joking, you know.”

“I suspected, but I think it’s a capital idea,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve chosen a few outfits and poses, so we can do it whenever you have the time. I was thinking we could use the bookshop, maybe the bedroom in the flat. If we need more locales, we might need to get a little crafty, but I think it’ll work.”

“Erk, if you say so,” Crowley managed.

“How does tomorrow sound?” Aziraphale pressed. “Early, so the light will be good. Then we can do lunch after. I traded with Mrs. Taylor for a bit of lovely jam the last time she was canning.”

“You don’t have to waste your rations on me,” Crowley grumbled.

“I know I shouldn’t use rations at all, since I don’t need to eat,” Aziraphale said, twining the phone cord around her fingers and looking down. “I’m just so used to it.”

“Psh, don’t worry about it,” Crowley insisted. “I’ll bring over my extra ration book, if you like. You can give it to your neighbor with all the kids.”

Aziraphale smiled slightly as they confirmed the plan, knowing it wouldn’t do to tell the demon she was being sweet. But she was, she really was.

***

Aziraphale was wearing a long, modest housecoat when Crowley arrived the next day, clutched tight at the neck even as she opened the door for the demon to enter. Crowley quirked an eyebrow at her over her sunglasses, but didn’t comment, following her into the bookshop and waiting as she locked up again. “A little late in the day to still be lounging around, innit?”

“I’m ready to make...cheesecake,” Aziraphale said, catching Crowley’s blush just before she turned away. A tiny hopeful part of her -- the part that had realized, after Crowley had saved her and her books, that her feelings for the demon were far from merely platonic -- wished that blush were a sign of attraction, rather than just embarrassment, but Aziraphale was not willing to risk the wrath of Heaven (or the loss of her best friend) to find out. Still, maybe the situation they now found themselves in might encourage Crowley to act, if Aziraphale’s hopes were correct; Crowley was always the more proactive of the two.

“Let’s start upstairs, shall we?” Aziraphale said, leading the silent demon through the shop, to the upstairs flat that Aziraphale rarely used and Crowley had entered only a handful of times in the 150 years the angel had owned the shop. “I have the camera set up in the bedroom.”

“You could do this yourself, you know, just use a few miracles,” Crowley said, over a gulp. Despite her nervousness, she looked around curiously, perhaps cataloguing the changes since she’d last been upstairs. There weren’t many, but Crowley was habitually curious.

“I’m not sure Heaven would approve,” Aziraphale said, for the first time doubting herself a little. She heard Crowley murmur her name quietly behind her, and it bolstered her courage. She squared her shoulders and pushed the bedroom door open.

The camera was set up on a tripod facing the bed, which was made up with a blue coverlet and matching pillows, the blond wood headboard a little old-fashioned, but Aziraphale liked the delicate design. She took off her housecoat while Crowley looked around the room, hanging it in the wardrobe, hiding a small smile when Crowley finally saw what she was wearing and gasped audibly. “Well,” Aziraphale said, turning slightly and holding out her arms to show the full outfit. “What do you think?”

Crowley’s cheeks were almost as red as her hair, and she’d taken off her sunglasses at some point, so it was clearly visible that her eyes had gone yellow from edge to edge. “A little old-fashioned, isn’t it?” she asked faintly, as Aziraphale moved to kneel on the bed, playing with the ends of her unbound hair.

“I thought the boys might like a little variety, don’t you?” Aziraphale said, letting her smile go a little sly.

Aziraphale was wearing lingerie, sure, but it was fifty or more years behind the times. Whereas fashionable young women now wore brassieres and knickers, Aziraphale wore a corset and drawers, in shades of blue a little darker than the bed’s linens, the edges trimmed in ecru lace. Her unbound hair was draped over one shoulder, doing nothing to hide the delicate lines of her cleavage. The corset was not nearly as wasp-waisted as had actually been the style in Victoria’s day, but the design she was wearing was more complimentary to Aziraphale’s curvaceous frame. Aziraphale reached up to brush a stray lock of hair over her shoulder with the rest, and Crowley held up a hand to still her.

“Don’t move, it’s perfect,” Crowley said, rushing to stand behind the camera. She snapped a couple of images, then glanced up over the viewfinder, eyes unreadable and huge. Aziraphale shifted position, crossing her legs and tipping forward a little to give the camera a better view of her decolletage. “Yeah, just like that,” Crowley practically whispered.

Aziraphale posed for Crowley, not for the camera, allowing everything she felt for the demon to come to the surface for once. Her affection for the other being shaped the curve of her smile, the come-hither look in her eyes, the inviting curve of her back and the welcoming tilt of her hips. Crowley was practically silent the whole time -- a first, for the normally gregarious demon -- only occasionally suggesting a shift in position or similar. Far too soon, the roll of film ran out, and Aziraphale relaxed out of the pose she was in, settling back on the bed with an uncertain look.

They stared at each other for a moment, Aziraphale on the bed and Crowley only half behind the camera, and Aziraphale let herself imagine: pretend that Crowley would step out from behind the camera fully and put one knee up on the mattress, crawl forward into Aziraphale’s space, tangle those long fingers in her loose hair, whisper her name against her lips…

“Guess now’s as good a time to stop as any,” Crowley said, pulling Aziraphale from her reverie. “I’ll go start the tea. Can you pack up the camera?”

Aziraphale nodded silently, watching as Crowley all but fled the room. She could hear the demon clattering down the stairs, no doubt heading for the safety and familiarity of the kitchenette in the bookshop’s backroom. Had Aziraphale been wrong? Had she just been making the demon uncomfortable, rather than Tempting the original Temptress? Aziraphale felt chilled at the thought, and wondered if she should apologize.

She changed into more appropriate clothing so quickly she worried for some of the seams, a tailored suit and high-necked blouse hiding most the skin she’d been scandalously baring earlier, hair miracled up out of the way into victory rolls. She checked that the drawn-on line of her “stockings” were straight and carefully removed the film from the camera, unwilling to lose their work, at least, then headed downstairs, uncertain what she’d find.

Crowley was puttering around the kitchenette as usual, and though her glasses were firmly back in place, she seemed calm. “I brought over my tea ration, to supplement yours,” she was saying as Aziraphale entered, pouring just a single cup, adding Aziraphale’s preferred amounts of sugar and milk with a miracle.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale scolded slightly, but her heart wasn’t in it, and the demon knew it, if her grin was anything to go by. “There’s coffee in the cupboard, if you want,” Aziraphale said instead, sitting down and dragging over the cup of tea. Despite being fresh from the pot, it was the perfect temperature to drink, and she took a pleased sip, looking up to find Crowley staring at her when she was done. “What?”

“Nothing, angel,” Crowley said, shaking her head, before turning back to the counter, which contained the kettle, the jar of instant coffee, and the makings of jam sandwiches. “Nothing at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> [reblog link](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/post/643135094073245696/a-slice-of-cheesecake-melayneseahawk-good)
> 
> [Direct link](https://www.instagram.com/p/CLSjD9XFBWpSX-InQxKsQHKVF9PZorinLIG-FU0/) to the art (tho bilarzo keeps their insta flocked).
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://melayneseahawk.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
